


Second Date Prinicple

by scalphunter



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Awkward Flirting, F/M, First Kiss, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-24 08:47:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4912966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scalphunter/pseuds/scalphunter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘What are you doing in here?’<br/>‘I could ask you the same thing’<br/>‘This is the men’s locker. Me being in here is kinda commonplace. You on the other hand-‘</p><p>Because sometimes second dates don't come in the form of dinner and coffee, they're more childish than that. This is what happens when Miss Pauling finds Scout hiding while she is... hers is a tactical retreat. Yes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Second Date Prinicple

**Author's Note:**

> My first fanfic for this fandom. I started playing TF2, watched the 'Expiration Date' mini-film and not only fell in-love with Scout but also Scout x Miss Pauling.

 

_Roughly 10 minutes ago._

‘Miss Pauling?!’ Scout doesn’t shriek, and a quarter of a million dollar military training doesn’t stop him from jumping as he collides with her.

‘Sshh!’ she’s a little frazzled, a little, not much, but it shows enough in her voice.

‘What are you doing in here?’

‘I could ask you the same thing’

‘This is the men’s locker. Me being in here is kinda commonplace. You on the other hand-‘

‘Who’s going to kill you?’

‘Uh’

‘Soldier?’

‘No’

‘Demoman?’

‘No’

‘Oh, so you did something to Heavy again. One day he will have your head. Quite literally’

 

 

_7 minutes ago._

‘Okay, hang on’ Scout says, skids and disappears around to the length of showers.

‘What are you doing?’ she whispers, and the sound of one shower spurting to life echoes off the tiled walls. ‘Oh’ she says to herself. Then something occurs to her. ‘You’re not actually taking a shower now, are you?’ she pads along the floor and leans to peek down the stalls. There is a lot of steam at this point. She should reprimand him for that. Scout leans out and smirks.

‘Come on. Give me credit’ and he is, thankfully, fully clothed. His t-shirt has gotten hit with the spray, leaving his front and shoulders slightly wet. She blinks and removes her glasses to wipe away the condensation. She replaces her glasses and he’s looking at her with an odd expression. Gone is the cocky bravado (which he is partly allowed – some of the time) and here is something different. He coughs and opens his mouth to say something. She beats him to it.

‘What did you do? Am I going to have to set him up for counselling like I did for Soldier?’ she asks, and yes, she’s baiting him and Scout immediately rallies up again.

‘You seriously still mad? It was a paintball gun. I didn’t mean to hit him!’

‘You. I’ve seen you on the field and I have your records. You’re not that lousy’

‘Yu-huh, see! I’m the be– what do you mean ‘not that lousy’?’ she smiles innocently, waits, and she sees the second he becomes aware she’s teasing him, and he scratches the back of his neck, a faint blush spreading across high cheekbones. ‘Uh well I may have sorta picked up Natascha’ he confesses and she nods once, slowly. “Natascha” is the name for Heavy’s machine-gun.

‘I see. There must be more to it’ she presses because Scout has a habit of touching things he shouldn’t.

‘I dropped her’

Right. Marvellous.

‘So, why did you think he wouldn’t check in here?’ she asks and Scout snorts.

‘I know we’re weird. Crazy bunch. But we don’t really go in for hanging about together in the nude if you get my meaning’ he explains and that might be information RED team she didn’t really need but this coming from a guy who will tell her batting averages (which she already knows) to keep her on the com. ‘Tell me, Miss Pauling, what did you do?’ and there’s a sly element to his Bostonian voice which makes her stand straighter.

‘The Administrator is angry at me’ she confesses and his mouth drops open in a soft ‘o’. ‘It’s a convoluted reason…’ she says, and mostly it’s because she had been defending the RED team, covering for them again, and the Administrator had called her out on it. She’s loyal to her boss, however there are snippets in time, brief interludes, where they don’t see eye to eye. ‘So the locker room’ she concludes and nods. Scout’s eyeing her, like he isn’t going to let it drop and he takes a step towards her, reaching out when –

‘Oi, Sniper, where you headed?!’

\- that’s Engie.

‘Jus’ gotta get the blood off me. Medic wasn’t as caring as he usually is. I’ll be in the shower. You turn it cold and I’ll take you out myself next time on the field, roight?’ Sniper.

 

_ NOW. _

‘That kid… He’s always pestering. Ah what a day’ Sniper’s voice is an easy cadence, traveling through the walls, rounding the corner and coming closer. He’s silent on his feet, Sniper, much like Spy. Scout freezes up. Her eyes widen and, oh God, there many reasons why they cannot be found here together. Sniper is laughing now – amused and free – which would make her glad for the man (their jobs don’t exactly allow for much relaxation) if it was not due to Scout’s possible death. Scout takes opportunity he had and pulls on her wrist as if she didn’t want to get out of Sniper’s line of sight. It’s like being in those cartoons for children where the teen protagonists creep around to hide from the villain. She stifles a giggle at the image. Unprofessional.

(a small part of her brain supplies her with: Not one iota of this is professional, Pauling, don’t try it.)

They make it to the other side of the wall, Sniper humming under his breath.

‘Which daft wanka left the shower on?’ he mutters and makes a non-committal noise. The sound of the water temperature being adjusted and suddenly Sniper’s low key humming becomes full on singing. Unabashed and so very the mark of someone who believes they are on their own. She recognises the song: For Your Eyes Only. The irony is not wasted. She listens as the particular sound of clothes put on racks and a belt buckle – when she realises she is listening in on a man she considers one of their best snipers stripping off.

His voice starts up, louder, and it startles her into moving.She manhandles Scout along and hauls him in one of the lockers with her. It’s a slim thing, not really suited for people, and Scout’s arms cradled her, keeping her close. Instantaneously protective. This should annoy her, nonetheless, she cannot bring herself to care and his hands are surprisingly warm. No wraps. Hm.

‘Do you usually pull guys into lockers on the second date or am I special?’ he says, all smirk and right next to her ear. She jerks her head up, pushing into him and covering his mouth with the palm of her right hand. His own hands haven’t left her sides but the wide-eyed expression of a deer caught in headlights sits nicely on his features. His lashes flutter and he goes very still. Scout is an obnoxious, cocky, unattractive idiot. He is also shy, kind and quite submissive once you see past the volume of maleness. In the field he’s in motion and silent and deadly and gorgeous. She can feel his lips, plump, slick and slack, under her fingers. Her left hand rests at the centre of his chest, not pushing just keeping him steady. Good genetics kept the boy lean and sparring and exercising on a regular basis with the likes of Spy kept him in top condition. After all, he’s the runner, the REDs dark horse. She remembers the first time she oversaw a physical exam and before taking off that faded red cut off t-shirt he had said: _Have you seen me without a shirt, because let me tell you, it’s awesome._ And, well, he wasn’t wrong. She would be in a frustrating pit of denial if she says she hasn’t thought about gagging him, tying him down, and biting down his abs.

Ahem.

Scout’s breath comes hot, like he’s just tuned into her thoughts, and she looks directly at him. She thinks perhaps loosening her hand is a good idea and she does.

‘You say anything involving chicken and I can guarantee to leave you in here’ she says quietly, saying the words close to the back of her own hand. She carefully drops her hand, scraping her nails down across Scout’s jaw. The stream of light illuminates the darkness of his pupils.

‘Miss-‘ he starts and then his eyes scrunch up, ‘Oh Sniper, bro, come on not now’ he complains and she can he definite sounds, ones that only a man can make over the rushing of water, and Scout is edging away, further into the locker, so she makes a snap decision and yanks at his t-shirt. He doesn’t stumble, he sways, and she kisses him.

He bites his lips. She knows this because of the torn skin on the bow of his lower lip. It’s flaky and rough and that does something to her. She licks at the injured flesh and Scout makes a muffled high-pitched squeak. She smiles, it’s mischievous and a little mean but Scout relaxes. His hands don’t stray from her sides which surprises her. He tastes of that awful energy drink – she’s pretty certain it’s in his bloodstream by now. Liquorice and store bought candy. Scout spurs into action (take obliviousness, initial shock and hope, shake it up and jam it inside a boy’s head: It does wonders). His right hand drops to catch at her own one and laces their fingers together, brushing the pad of the thumb across her pulse in a glide. The beat racks up a notch, her blood turning into whiskey as the slow coil of arousal kicks in. Scout pulls back and there’s a millisecond pause for thought, then he crowds into her, placing feather light kisses below her ear. It’s like him – enough but at the same time not at all. She’s leans back with him, travels the side of her court-shoed foot up the inside of his calf, scraping through the material of his sweats. She mewls as he touches the bare skin between her slightly hoisted shirt and skirt. He chuckles and she grinds into him in revenge. That may have been a mistake as he tugs her closer, thigh in between his own ones, just as she steps back. The move had been intended as a tactic.

She hears a tiny click and suddenly their world tips, and the two of them are falling in a tangle of limbs. There’s the smack of metal on metal. She ends up flat on her back with Scout draped over her. He makes a noise of distress and sits up.

‘Jesus Christ. Are you okay?’

‘Never better, you?’ she asks, shaking her head and pushing up her glasses and Scout - he looks sincerely worried. She should have been listening, been careful, but she had a rather insistent pre-occupation and since his arrival Scout has always managed to get her attention, and so when a very clearly European voice says –

‘Scout’ and then runner looks up, panic slapping his face. So, it seems even hiding in the locker room did not deter Heavy. The man moves with a grace he should not possess given the size of him and bodily hauls Scout away.

She gets to her feet, coughs, ready to tell Heavy to think for one iota, when she sees that Scout is being shaken upside down. It’s rather comical - one leg dangling, red in the face - but Heavy is snarling at him with all the anger of a man who is extremely pissed.

‘Heavy, dude, c’mon I didn’t break her!’

‘That is not the point, kid, you don’t learn! Don’t. Touch’

‘I know – I know, hey whoa, whoa mind the merch - I’ll make you a deal’ he’s grasping, desperate, but rather surprisingly Heavy stops still.

‘Speak’

‘I’ll mess with Soldier’s lunch for you instead’

‘No’ and he dunks and pulls Scout once more.

‘Alright. I’ll do your chores and mine. Every week for a month!’

Miss Pauling offers an easy, ‘Heavy-‘

‘Hmm’ he’s mulling it over, grins widely, all teeth, that’s monumentally terrifying, and says happily, ‘Okay, this is good for me’ and instead of dropping Scout he launches the flailing boy into the quite full laundry bin. The open lid shuts with an audible thud and stifled curses from Scout. ‘All done. Miss Pauling’ he adds respectfully, his voice lowered a number of decibels and simply leaves.

She tentatively pads over to the bin to peer inside.

‘First date: near death. Second comes with added stinky laundry. Third’s gotta be good’ Scout’s despairing voice drifts through the gap of the bent bin lid. She takes a note from her pad, scribbles down a few things and slips it past the lid.

Date, time, no team-mates, no problems.

She passes Sniper who’s jean clad, damp towel in hand and frowning at the talking laundry bin. ‘Have a good evening, Sniper’ she says and she can feel his complete confusion all the way down the corridor.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed, please leave kudos or comments :)  
> If you have twitter come and say hello I'm: https://twitter.com/fassaholic


End file.
